Page 42 of Rescuing Ember

A flash of memory hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. Rough hands, the stench of stale cigarettes, a voice thatpromised pain with every syllable. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the images away.

“Big,” I manage. “Mean. What else matters?”

“Details matter,” Blaze says, an edge of frustration creeping into his voice. “Anything you remember could help us find them. How can you not care about what happened to you?”

His words sting, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I shrug, affecting an air of indifference I don’t really feel. “Been through worse. It’s over now, right?”

Blaze’s jaw tightens, his fingers drumming impatiently on the table. His foot taps restlessly, and I catch the slight flare of his nostrils with each sharp breath. The air between us feels heavier, crackling with the tension he’s barely holding in check.

Good.

Maybe if I push him hard enough, he’ll back off and leave me alone.

I open my mouth to snap at him, but Aria’s voice cuts me off.

“Leave her alone,” Aria suddenly says, surprising me with the steel in her tone. “Can’t you see she’s been through enough?”

Our eyes meet across the room, and a flicker of understanding passes between us—an unspoken connection that transcends words.

The designer labels and cool confidence fade away, revealing the scared girl underneath, someone who knows what it’s like to survive the unimaginable. She gives me a slight nod, a silent acknowledgment of shared trauma, and the weight of my own walls feels just a little lighter.

“Fine,” Jenny sighs. “Let’s take a break. Get some rest, both of you. We’ll continue this later.”

As our rescuers file out, Blaze’s shoulders sag just a little, the tension slipping from his frame. His steps are slower, more deliberate like the weight of something unseen is holding him back.

I shouldn’t be able to read it, but somehow, I know—disappointment. It shouldn’t get under my skin, but it does. I shove the feeling aside, forcing myself to stay detached. I can’t afford to care what he thinks. I can’t afford to care about any of this.

“Ember—” Blaze turns around, but I cut him off before he can say more.

“Don’t,” I warn, my voice shaky. “Just—don’t.”

I’m too weak to hear the disappointment in his tone, not strong enough to face whatever comes next.

He nods, respecting my boundaries even as concern radiates off him in waves. The door closes behind him softly, leaving Aria and me alone in the too-quiet room.

“You okay?” I ask, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. Since when do I care about the well-being of spoiled rich girls?

“Yeah, I’m just peachy.” Aria’s laugh is brittle, edged with hysteria. “Nearly sold into slavery, but hey, at least I got a fun story for my father’s next fundraising gala. Nothing like a little trauma to spice up those mind-numbing events.”

“Your galas sound so rough.” I’m unable to keep the disdain from my voice, but there’s something in her tone, a hint of resentment, which catch my attention.

Despite everything, the corner of my mouth twitches. It’s a joke—a poor one, but a joke, nonetheless.

“At least you get to do what you want.” Aria shrugs, her designer shirt slips off one shoulder. “No expectations, no constant scrutiny. No gilded cage.”

“Yeah, freedom to starve is great.” I snort. “You undervalue that gilded cage of yours.”

She looks at me then, really looks at me. “What were you doing on the street? You know, when—when it happened?”

FIFTEEN

Ember

Aria’s questioncatches me off guard. My fingers brush against the vial of matches in my pocket—my constant companion, my secret weapon.

How do I explain that every time I was in danger, every time I needed an escape…

No. Some secrets are better left buried.

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